A nose, once attached, is now detached. And in its detachment, it thrives. There is no tragedy in the loss of a nose. The real tragedy lies in the realization that, without it, you are nothing.
After a 100-day strike, Theater Factory 42’s premiere of The Nose—a free interpretation of Nikolai Gogol’s absurdist tale—turns the grotesque premise into a deeply unsettling meditation on power, selfhood, and the terrifying autonomy of status. Under the masterful direction and scenography of Levan Tsuladze, the performance strips away the comforts of traditional storytelling, plunging the audience into a surreal, fragmented world where identity is as slippery as the stage beneath the actors’ feet.
At the center of the performance is Nika Kuchava’s Kovalyov, a contemporary bureaucrat whose grip on his own existence slips away the moment he wakes up to find his nose missing, who never leaves the stage for the entire 100-minute duration. This ceaseless presence is crucial: the audience witnesses, without pause, the unraveling of a man who has lost his most superficial yet essential trait. Kovalyov’s tragedy is no longer just the absurdity of his missing nose—it is the slow realization that his influence, authority, and social presence were never truly his own, but rather projections granted by an external world that no longer acknowledges him.
In a world where credibility is often dictated by perception rather than reality, Kovalyov’s plight feels painfully contemporary. Who are you without your blue checkmark? Your title? Your network?
Nika Khrikuli’s “Nose” is no passive missing appendage—it is an active force, a being of pure influence. Through extraordinary physicality the Nose moves with the eerie confidence of a person who has been granted instant authority. It strides through government offices, sits at desks, receives deferential treatment—all while Kovalyov flounders, invisible and powerless. Khrikuli’s performance transforms the Nose into the ultimate social construct: a symbol of power that is obeyed without question, despite its clear absurdity.
The Nose’s ability to command respect without justification echoes modern-day phenomena such as corporate figureheads who ascend to power despite lacking qualifications, influencers who wield mass influence without expertise, and political figures who emerge from obscurity yet are instantly treated as legitimate. The Nose does not need Kovalyov to exist. On the contrary, it thrives in his absence.
One of the most striking aspects of Tsuladze’s adaptation is its portrayal of bureaucracy as not just a system, but a living, breathing antagonist. Kovalyov does everything within his power to reclaim his identity—he visits doctors, attempts to place ads in newspapers, pleads with government officials—but he is met with indifference, mockery, and meaningless administrative roadblocks.
The world around him does not acknowledge the absurdity of the situation. Instead, it treats his suffering as a trivial inconvenience, a hiccup in an otherwise normal day. This aspect of the play resonates deeply in an era where systemic failures—from immigration limbo to social security nightmares—render individuals functionally nonexistent, with institutions refusing to recognize their plight.
Perhaps the most unsettling aspect of Tsuladze’s The Nose is its direct relevance to contemporary society. Gogol originally intended his story as a critique of rigid social hierarchies in Tsarist Russia, but Tsuladze’s adaptation expands its reach to the broader existential crises of the modern world.
We live in an era where identity theft is not just a crime but a business model, where deepfakes and AI-generated personas blur the lines of authenticity, where a person’s online presence can be erased overnight—along with their credibility and livelihood. The Nose is no longer just a satirical tale; it is a horror story that has already come true.
Kovalyov’s plight is not just that of an unlucky bureaucrat—it is the plight of every individual who has been reduced to a set of credentials, every worker whose value is tied to their job title, every person whose worth is dictated by their digital presence. When reputation exists independently of the person behind it, what happens when that person loses control of their own narrative?
Tsuladze’s scenography transforms the stage into a shifting, unstable terrain where characters struggle to keep their footing—an apt metaphor for the instability of identity. The central set piece—a garbage bin—looms over the action, serving as both a grotesque altar and a symbol of discarded privilege. It is here that scraps of influence, status, and recognition are unceremoniously tossed, a stark reminder that power is as disposable as the waste it leaves behind. And it is from this very trash heap that a vagrant, an almost mystical figure, emerges—ultimately becoming the agent of Kovalyov’s downfall, severing him from his nose and setting the surreal nightmare in motion.
The ensemble—Manana Kozakova, Baia Dvalishvili, Duta Skhirtladze, Onise Oniani, Anka Vasadze, Anuka Grigolia, and Teona Kokrashvili—do not merely act as supporting characters but as manifestations of a world that increasingly ignores Kovalyov, shifting allegiances to the new, faceless authority in the room. Zurab Gagloshvili’s music adaptation underscores this nightmarish transition, weaving eerie, dissonant tones with sudden bursts of lyrical melodies, reinforcing the absurdity of the spectacle. Nino Surguladze’s costume design further amplifies this visual chaos, dressing the Nose in attire that mirrors Kovalyov’s own, hinting at the grotesque inflation of authority when separated from its human vessel.
A Postmodern Nose for the Contemporary Spectator
Theater Factory 42’s The Nose is not merely a retelling of Gogol’s satire—it is an urgent reexamination of what it means to exist in a society where image eclipses substance. In an era dominated by digital avatars, social media personas, autocrats clinging to power and corporate hierarchies where titles outlive the people who hold them, Tsuladze’s production strikes a nerve. What remains of a person when their name, reputation, and influence are no longer attached to them?
This production also carries an unmistakable political charge: it marks Theater Factory 42’s return to the stage after a 100-day strike—an act of resistance supported by numerous theaters across Georgia in protest against the recent elections and the country’s stalled European integration. The choice of The Nose, a story about arbitrary power and the erasure of individual agency, is no coincidence. It is a sharp, theatrical statement about a system that rewards faceless conformity while discarding those who challenge it.
By the final, haunting scene, Kovalyov is left in a space that no longer recognizes him, his presence rendered obsolete. His tragedy is no longer just one of absurdity—it is one of irrelevance. And as the audience walks away from the performance, the uncomfortable question lingers: How much of me is truly mine? In a world where noses outrank their owners, who really holds the power?
By Ivan Nechaev
